We lived among the heathen trees
I lent my bed to rats
I hexed my tongue
And ripped the wings
Right off my sallow back
We lived among the heathen trees
There was no law to bind us
I hid my daughter far away
Where judgement never found us
I burned up all her dresses
And she went wild in the wood
She was a pale and naked hearse
For my fear of man and god
I wore her first blood on my cheek
And I knew that she was ready
All I could do was hold my breath
To keep my fingers steady
CHORUS:
This place might be a righteous hell
If I could only set the swamps alight
And this place might have been a piece of heaven
If the light weren’t always failing
I dug our graves a mile deep
And washed my hands
In the dirt beyond the paling
We lived among the heathen trees
I spent her innocence like a bullet
In the head of my sunken mare
She bore my burdens lovingly
With brambles in her hair
I spent my seed upon my seed
And grew horror after horror
There were no prayers on the wind
That whipped across her belly
Twenty faces smashed by man
Who hid away from god
One by one,
We took their hands
And led them to the water
And in baptismal grace
We held their broken faces under water
Never again in dismal grace
To break the surface of the water
CHORUS:
This place might be a righteous hell
If I could only set the swamps alight
And this place might have been a piece of heaven
If the light weren’t always failing
I dug their graves a mile deep
And washed my hands
In the dirt beyond the paling
Go now away
My crooked law can’t bind you
Go now away
And maybe god will find you
With each horror lost
Each perversion freed
A piece of her I murdered
So she left my crooked way
She haunted the heathen trees by night
And hid fully from the day
By moonlight she trod the wicked night
And her torment never softened
Comfort one could not expect
For a mother who gave birth to twenty coffins
Vespers and devotions
She gave into the night
I found her early the next day
It was a dreadful sight
The birds all sang out clean and sweet
From the branches of the heathen trees
Where my lovely daughter swung
In the gentle summer breeze
Vocals: haunted, and subversive. Guitars: splintered shrieks. Drum machine: grim, unrelenting nausea. Visceral noise, with a hook that gets stuck in in your throat. Just try spitting them out. Stranger Killings
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